


show me where the light is

by followinyourafterglow



Category: The Royals (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, bless my children, i'm literally clutching my face at them all the time, let me live in my happy ship bubble before something ruins them, no one touch me!!!, they are perfect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followinyourafterglow/pseuds/followinyourafterglow
Summary: Robert, by far, is the stupidest crush Willow Moreno has ever had.





	show me where the light is

**Author's Note:**

> i’m basically 100% ready to get FUCKED UP by this ship whichever way this ends
> 
> (I started writing this right before 4x03 so you can orient yourself with where this takes off!)

 

 

 

After it’s revealed Robert was financially providing for Ted Pryce, after Cyrus slinks away, unscathed in the demise of his nephews’ relationship with one another, after Liam finishes fighting for the throne, _after everything_ , he packs up and abandons the kingdom he so desperately wanted.

 

After it’s all over, Liam Henstridge leaves England.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

The royal family nearly implodes in front of the world’s eyes. The palace is on edge while the British tabloids have a field day with all the speculation and rumours swirling about where Liam has gone and why he has abandoned his duties.

 

(The truth they will all learn later is that Liam goes everywhere – Cape Town, Soeul, New Delhi and Los Angeles – but he doesn’t come back).

 

Liam’s departure, and the resulting media circus, hits everyone hard. Helena is hysterical and Eleanor is distant, losing herself in her artwork projects. But Willow knows, as she juggles phone calls from reporters and carefully chooses the correct PR strategy to pursue, that it has hit Robert the hardest. Because he’s continuously living in it – the cycle of betrayal, scrutiny, and everything else that comes with the fallout of what has happened -  and she’s been right there with him, on the edge of it, reaching over and trying to pull Robert out.

 

She advises him to do a live interview on the telly about what’s transpired. It’s risky – these things always are – but it’s less about salvaging the scandal and more about giving the country the chance to move on from it. About giving _Robert_ the chance to move on.

 

A catharsis of sorts.

 

Willow stands a few feet behind the interviewer the entire time, arms crossed and iPad in hand. The lights engulf the palace room and the heat radiating from the bulbs makes her sweat through her dress, but Willow does not move. Robert plays his part to a tee, answers the questions he can and is open about the ones he cannot. Namely why he cannot speak for Liam.

 

She’s again reminded of the parts of Robert that are rehearsed and poised with years of grooming. The parts of him that give nothing away. It’s a sight to behold – how these things come naturally to him. And perhaps that’s why her position this close to the royal family, and Robert especially, has started to become less distant, less of a job and more of a personal responsibility.

 

But in reality, whether Willow is with Robert or not, he’s just as persistent in her thoughts. In the past year, he’s been in the back corners of the palace gardens where she sometimes walks to clear her head, tucked in the crowded London streets when she’s racing between meetings, in the stairwell of her walk-up flat when she’s recalling the day’s events and the latest thing Robert has done or said to intrigue her. Robert is etched in the expensive glassware he uses to drink his favourite scotch, seated eternally at the desk in his office, his image ingrained into the empty plains and deserts and ocean floors of Willow’s memory.     

 

When the crew starts to pack up and the producer is informing her of the numbers from the latest broadcast ratings, before Robert slips out of the room, he catches her eyes deliberately. There’s a small smile on his lips, tight, like maybe he’s not sure what he’s done.

 

Willow smiles reassuringly, only slightly caught up in the way Robert’s blue eyes light up at the gesture.  It’s funny how someone as important and resourceful as Robert, _how a king_ , sometimes seems to only be able to afford being vulnerable with her.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

Robert doesn’t deny he needs to continue making his scheduled public appearances. That he shouldn’t be recluse. _It’s has less to do with tricking the country and more about reassuring_ _them_ , Willow plans on saying to him, but finds that she doesn’t have to. 

 

Sometimes Willow is relieved how utterly hopeless Robert _isn’t_. How he understands that difficult but simple things just have to be done, even if they are bothersome or occur at the worst possible time.

 

There’s an extra ticket to the Children’s Hospital Gala that circulates around the palace before it winds up at Willow’s feet.

 

She takes it, not entirely certain why. Perhaps its her reward for exhausting herself these past few weeks or an excuse to leave her office and present herself like a full functioning member of society again.

 

Willow wears her best gown – floor length and emerald green, cutting at the backside, leaving her skin exposed. It’s a pretty sordid affair and Willow watches from the sidelines – like she mostly has her entire life. Being born into an aristocratic family is not the same thing as being raised in one and that means Willow is always a few steps behind where she could be. It doesn’t bother her.

 

If anything, it gives Willow perspective. Lets her straddle both worlds comfortably. She’s not a little girl staring at her childhood musical box anymore (except maybe for the one Robert had gifted her, when her fingers trace its shiny exterior as she thinks of him). Willow understands the reality of living this life and she knows its probably best to be on the other side, even though she’s not really in either place anymore.

 

(Sometimes she’s still not sure where she belongs, even in her own skin.)

 

Her eyes lock with Robert’s one too many times that evening. It’s hard to avoid knowing that he inherently takes control of a room the moment he enters it, for grabbing attention with a simple look, and the Gala is no different.

 

Willow leaves the ballroom to take a call while Robert gives his speech. When she re-enters, she follows him with her eyes as he makes his way over to her table. He grabs a couple of flutes of champagne from a nearby waiter, pressing one into her hands as he approaches her.

 

“You look very nice,” Robert says, shoving his hand into one of his trouser pockets.

 

“Thank you,” Willow’s mouth quirks, taking a sip.

 

“It’s hardly fair.”

 

“Hardly fair for whom?”

 

“For me, of course,” he responds, raising his chin. “I wasn’t expecting to compete with anyone.”

 

“You should take it as a warning not to get too confident.” She shrugs. “It’s a shame – I should have taught you better.”

 

“Oh, I know full well not to get too confident about anything around you.” Robert smirks. “I just chose to ignore it. There’s only so much of Willow Moreno _even a king_ is capable of handling at a time.”

 

The thing about Robert, she thinks, is that she isn’t supposed to want to be near him this much when she doesn’t have to be. Originally it had been amusing, being on the other end of his proposal. But that was so long ago and he’s already committed to considering other potential wives. Which somehow, to her brain, means its the most opportune time to decide it’s hard to pull away. 

 

Willow rolls her eyes. "Despite what you may believe or are accustomed to hearing, being smug is really not an attractive look. _Even on a king_."

 

“Everything looks attractive on me."

 

She raises her eyebrows. “Is that so?”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to keep a running list of these sorts of things?”

 

“My apologies, _Ways to Inflate His Majesty’s Ego_ is a little beneath my pay grade. I’d be happy to hire someone to populate such a list if it pleases Your Majesty?”

 

Robert stares at her, blue eyes shining under the chandelier lights as his lips press together mischievously. “How about a dance instead?”

 

“Sure,” Willow nods, following him to where a crowd has gathered in front of the orchestra. 

 

The ease of Robert’s hand slipping to the curve of her hip is only slightly unnerving. His fingertips are poised where her skin meets the fabric of her dress. Willow looks at him levelly as she raises her hand to be held by his, chin straight, imaging her blood pulsing where they touch.

 

They move in slow circles and Willow considers the delicate lining of Robert’s tuxedo. She can feel some of the eyes in the room on them but it doesn’t really bother her. Not when Robert’s _so close_.

 

It shouldn’t surprise Willow, really. She’s usually hyperaware of what she wants and tries to avoid doing things she knows are stupid. While other women at university pined after promiscuous men, feeling endlessly sorry for themselves and crying when they don’t return their calls, Willow had learned the value of cutting those feelings loose, to compartmentalize them and move forward.

 

Liam had been someone worth crying over at one point but she had refused to let that happen. Willow had squeezed and squeezed what she had felt for him until it became a tiny speck, floating away or getting lost in the shuffle of her life.

 

Robert’s the type of man that could make women cry, too, Willow is sure. All perfect charm and wide grins, always seemingly in place wherever he finds himself.

 

Except that’s not really true. There’s something crooked in Robert, a little out of place. It’s taken Willow a while to see it and how deep it goes. Deeper than his anxieties of being a beloved king, deeper than Kathryn, than Liam even. It’s goes right to the bone and sometimes, when Willow watches him and he’s starting straight ahead out the window or at the palace walls, at nothing in particular, or he’s rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, ready to work, leaning his hands on his desk, she can see it as clear as day.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Robert says as one of his hands inadvertently slips from her backside to the curve of her waist.

 

 “Yes.”

 

“I never asked you this before but,” he sighs, “I don’t imagine you want to advise on my family’s social media presence for the rest of your life. Do you know what’s next for you?”

 

A moment passes and Willow holds his gaze.

 

“Are you growing tired of me already?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

Willow knows she’s fortunate to be able to carve out her path as she goes. And perhaps, that’s the best part of it all, trying to strike a balance between looking forward to what’s next but also having enough security to being able to trust it too. Willow never exactly planned on being _here_ to begin with and the truth is she’s not certain what she will do next. And that is what she tells him.

 

“I don’t quite know yet,” Willow answers. Her hand drops a little from his shoulder, holding onto the back of his arm now. “Before…well before this, I thought I was going to do a whole host of things. But now I’m not so certain anymore.”

 

“Are you afraid?”

 

He searches her gazes then and something stirs in her stomach. Perhaps Robert is looking for some kind of acknowledgement, like he can’t read her even when she doesn’t really make any attempts at hiding any part of herself in front of him.

 

“I don’t think so. Or, I suppose, I don’t want to think about it just yet,” Willow shakes her head, “Even though my job is to tell you I have everything figured out.”

 

Robert smirks. “I can forgive this one transgression.”

 

She hums in response.  

 

“I asked because…” Robert’s voice trails off a little. Willow can feel herself moving closer to him, raising her eyes higher to meet his and for a moment the warmth of him goes straight to her head. Maybe that’s why she thinks his eyes flicker to her mouth before looking at her again. “I appreciate everything you do. I know sometimes it might feel as thought I’m only going along with what you say, like I take your work for granted or don’t see the value of what you do. But I know you’re fighting each day to help my family. To help _me_. And I want you to know that I will fight for what you want too, whatever that is, even if it’s not working at the palace.”

 

Willow doesn't say anything. She feels a little struck, maybe even stunned speechless. It may be the way he’s looking at her, or the way Willow thinks he’s looking at her. It may be that she’s suddenly beginning to feel around Robert what she convinced herself she wouldn’t (or couldn’t or how they are here and he’s saying this to her when she never expected it to be him).

 

“Willow?” He says her name and the sound of it sends something racing up her spine.

 

“Thanks, Robert,” she says, biting her lip. “I appreciate you, too.”

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

Willow’s rifling through the photographs from the Gala. The evening rushes back into her mind, and as she sorts the photos of people with mild interest, it all comes as a shock when she finally arrives at her own.

 

There she is, with Robert, the space between them barely a sliver as they dance to the string quartet. Willow can hardly remember what the music sounded like, just like she doesn’t recall how steady her eyes held Robert’s, or how her fingers clenched into the fabric of his tuxedo jacket, or the self-assuredness reflecting in her face. But here they are, for all the world to see.

 

There are certain things she does remember. Willow can hardly keep the memories at bay as they engulf her now, causing her to shiver. 

 

Like the poise in Robert’s strides, the strength of his hand pressed against her waist, and the jolt he made her feel deep in her chest when he told her the things he did. How knowing what she means to him and the confidence he has in her made her feel something incredible, like _she_ can do something incredible. Willow supposes for a long time that is what she’s truly wanted and it’s almost like Robert has known it too.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

She enters his office quietly, hands inside the pocket of her trousers, back and shoulders straight. Robert is at his chair, deep in thought, staring at the tiny hourglass at the corner of his desk. Willow clears her throat, making her presence known as she comes to stand across him.

 

“I accept,” she says, “Your offer of marriage. _I accept_.”

 

Robert looks at her, hesitant.

 

“I mean, if it’s still on the table and you haven’t already set your mind to someone else.”

 

“Of course–”

 

“Liam’s gone,” she says abruptly, almost defiant.

 

Robert rises from his chair, eyes never leaving hers. “I know.”

 

“It’s over,” Willow shakes her head. “Liam is _gone_.”

 

It’s a subtle hint, maybe even a test. Part of her, perhaps an entire version of herself, is aware of the circumstances that contributed to Robert’s interest in her. And how those circumstances now cease to exist. 

 

His mouth parts in understanding. “It is still on the table and I hope it puts your mind at ease knowing it still stands for reasons _not entirely_ different then before Liam left. My reasons were – _are_ – sincere.”

 

Willow closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Alright.”

 

“Okay then?”

 

“Yes, alright.”

 

“What made you change your mind? Why now?”

 

Why wouldn’t she? Robert makes her feel important and not just in the instances when it is convenient for him. Even when she pushes back or stretches his patience and beliefs to their limits, Robert takes her seriously. Like he needs it, needs her counsel and her companionship. Like maybe he needs _her._

 

“You asked me what I wanted to do after this. I want to do good and important things, things that don’t just matter to you and your family, and I’d like to do some of those things with you,” Willow answers, coming around his desk to lean against the edge of it, arms crossed. “And because of that, this is not an unconditional acceptance.”

 

He sits back in his chair, hand cupping his jaw, elbow propped on the armrest. He looks at her pensively, waiting.

 

“Robert, everything needs to change. Where our time and resources are allocated. There needs to be more transparency, more that what is deemed appropriate to properly control a narrative. We need to rebuild the monarchy.”

 

“We?”

 

Willow smiles coyly, pushing her hair behind her ear. “Well there’s no way you would get any of this done without me.”

 

“…I convinced you to marry me, though, didn’t I?”

 

“Yeah, _barely_. I saw right through your gifts and fake pleasantries.”

 

Robert laughs, “They weren’t fake.”

 

“I know.”

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

(Later that evening, as she stands from the sofa in his study, the details of her demands and their arrangement worked out, Robert stops her, reaching out to hold her hand.

 

“I hope you aren’t agreeing to this because you don’t think you deserve better than a life in the public eye or that this is the only way to realize your aspirations…. or because you don’t think you can find someone better to marry.”

 

Willow raises an eyebrow, squeezing his hand once. “You know that’s not why I’m doing this.”

 

“Good,” Robert smirks, “I’m the king, after all. There’s no one better than me.”

 

She leans over to shove one of the throw pillows in his face.)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

“You mean to tell me that all I needed was _this_ and they’ll let me fly a plane?” Willow exclaims, emerging from the hallway and gesturing to the green pilot jumpsuit she’s wearing that matches Robert’s.

 

The cameras go off immediately. The flashes are almost blinding, bouncing around everywhere as she steps further inside the Air Force hanger. It’s their first public outing since announcing their engagement and Willow had decided to do it here. Some of Robert’s best friends and memories were with the RAF; it’s strategic to entwine herself in it.  

 

“Not unless they want you to crash land on a deserted island over the Pacific.” He smiles at her from behind his aviators.

 

“ _Haha,_ ” she responds, hands on her hips. “Why would they require me for that when they have you?”

 

“That’s… I’m pretty certain you just committed treason.”

 

“I did no such thing.”

 

“You don’t get corrected often, do you?”

 

Willow laughs and wrinkles her nose. “Probably never. Why? Do you want to be the first?”

 

“I’m good for now,” Robert answers, leaning back to place his hand on the Second World War Bomber brought out for them just for this occasion.

 

“That’s what I thought,” she smirks, joining him, eyes perking for the cameras.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

 (“I’m also going to need you to agree to not have sex with other women.”

 

“I’m not particularly set on doing anything that humiliates you.”

 

“I’m rather serious,” Willow says plainly.

 

“I am as well.”

 

“I will leave you and destroy you in the same second.”

 

Robert’s mouth twitches, his expression a mix of amusement and fear. “I know you will.”)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

It begins like this:

 

A peck on his lips in the mornings before Willow starts her workday outside the palace, his hand on the small of her back and his mouth at her ear when Robert wants to whisper something to her in public, and sometimes, when it’s late and they are in his office (or hers) Willow watches him and feels her face warming at the thought of his hands and mouth on other parts of her.

 

It’s not long after that before Willow takes matters into her own hands and makes sense of the thick feeling in between her thighs, enough to kiss Robert’s mouth raw, fingers clenching in his shirt. She lets him lead her to his bedroom, her hand in his, the heat and slick building impossibly fast inside her.

 

There's a conversation between the door and the bed, a few stray minutes of chatter, a moment where Willow asks questions and Robert gives her the answers she needs. Then his hands are under the edge of her jumper, pulling it off and unbuttoning the layers underneath. She can taste the twinge of scotch from the glass he drank earlier and she chases it, getting lost in the movements of his tongue slipping past hers.

 

After, when they are on his bed, Robert touches the skin between her breasts with the tips of his fingers. It feels intimate, and Willow shivers, smiling a little at the grin that blooms on his face. Robert is much bigger than she is, which she doesn’t think she entirely realized until his clothes are off. But perhaps the most surprising thing is that there’s something else too, a sort of eagerness and energy to Robert that makes itself known when he’s finally inside her.

 

It’s hard and messy, a complete antithesis to their weeks of dancing delicately around one another. _I want you_ , Robert says and Willow believes him, can barely articulate her _Yes_ past her whimpering when he asks to flip her to her stomach and onto her knees. He pulls her backwards by the hips until she’s sheathing his cock, her back against his chest and her thighs bracing against his so that they are almost sitting upright. Robert’s hands palm her breasts, hot and keen, and she can’t help when her head drops back to his shoulder, eyes tightly closed. Their movements at this angle makes Willow see stars. His fingers slip between them, working at her until she comes in a sudden rush, fingernails digging hard into his forearms.  

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

Later, Willow slowly rubs her hands over her face, turning to face him as she catches her breath. “Oh my god.”

 

“What?” Robert asks, eyebrows knitting together.

 

“We could have been doing _that_ all this time?” Willow drops her hands, grinning at him. “You should have fought harder for me all those months ago.”

 

In the dim light where they lay, she can see a smattering of freckles down Robert’s chest, and unconsciously reaches out to touch a cluster of them over his ribs. Robert exhales, his ribcage pushing slightly into her hand as he smiles lazily.

 

“I tried my best to respect your boundaries,” he quips back, “You were an employee.”

 

“That’s the excuse we’re going with?”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

Willow sits up, the bedsheets falling into her lap. Robert’s eyes drop to her chest for a moment and she’s reminded just how desperate she is for a shower, her thighs still a little wet from their sex.

 

“It’s just us now. You can finally admit it was because you were heartbroken when I turned you down.”

 

“Perhaps…” he responds, voice trailing as he touches her hip. His thumb finds the bone protruding there. Willow moves into the pressure of it, the pit of her belly suddenly on fire again.

 

She rises silently from the bed, heading in direction of his loo but then stops to look at Robert over her shoulder. “Join me in five minutes and _perhaps_ I’ll let you make up for lost time.”

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

(“Do you think Liam will come to the wedding?”

  
“I don’t know.”)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

(Liam doesn’t come.

 

Willow sends him an email, asking if he’s okay. Last she heard he’s in Shanghai.

 

He responds with _Congratulations_ and _I’m sorry_.

 

She doesn’t hear from him for another year.)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

They spend the royal honeymoon exploring the European towns surrounding the hotels Eleanor worked on. There’s an occasional run-in with a tabloid photographer, but usually they are surrounded by enough security that there’s a constant flurry of footsteps over worn cobblestone around them. 

 

On their last night they sneak out of the hotel in their best makeshift disguises – an old baseball cap and silk scarf – and sit at a tiny restaurant facing the Adriatic Sea.

 

Willow eyes him over her wineglass as they converse casually, the cutlery on their table shines as it reflects the breaking sunset behind him. She likes Robert like this, like he’s any other man against a backdrop of the rest of the world, all full colours. It’s unlike how Willow often sees him, somewhere in between the white and black. Because that’s probably the first thing she’s learned from Robert – there is nothing that is good that it's never done anything bad, and even the worst of people have experienced being good.

 

As they finish their meals the sky becomes a darker purple, the trees black against the backdrop of the night. Willow counts the number of times the waves lap against the city walls at their feet as they walk along the water’s edge, her arms curled around Roberts’s bicep. He tells her a childhood story about his father and when he had accompanied him on a diplomatic-related trip of sorts to the country’s capital. When Willow pressures closer, peaking up at him from under the brim of his cap, she can smell his cologne and hotel soap from under his shirt.

 

When they return to the hotel, Willow can feel the cool night air from the open window as Robert helps her out of her dress. He kisses a trail down her spine as she holds onto the edge of the dresser, watching as Robert sinks to the ground behind her, his reflection disappearing from her line of sight in the mirror in front of her.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

The thing about Robert is that he does care, perhaps a little too much – about his family, about the monarchy, about what people think of him – but he tends to have very strange, sometimes unpredictable, ways of showing it.

 

But one of the consistent things about him that Willow quickly learns in their marriage is that she can almost always knows the truth to him when she finds him alone, staring out at London through his study window. Whether he is celebrating a victory or winding down his mental process after a routine job is over, there’s a comfort in knowing how he operates. It’s the sort of thing about being and working with Robert that makes sense, in all its inextricable and unexplainable ways. And the thing is, Robert does it well. Willow has always liked working with the best – the best partners in class projects taught by the best professors at school.

 

That’s why this partnership works.

 

She can count on Robert to help her maneuver bureaucrats and politicians to get the organizational funding and policies she supports and develops in place. And Willow gives him her honest advice and perspective on his developments, sometimes turning the machinations he’s been taught his whole life into something less manipulative, less brute and rigid. Into something else entirely at times. Willow likes to think she shows Robert a different way, just like he shows her the benefit of sharpening one’s own edges, of how to continue fighting after the battle is long over, eyes always set on the horizon focused on the war that’s yet to come.

 

There’s an undercurrent to their respective work too – that what they do has an impact on the legacy of the monarchy they will leave behind. That’s the biggest challenge of all and Willow plays her part – is still learning it, each and every day. 

 

Willow helps Robert understand this bigger picture because she sees it too.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

 (“What happened on the island?”

 

“I could have left earlier but…I chose not to.”

 

There’s a part of Robert that’s exposed, a tiny sliver that runs deep that Willow has learned she can feel in her blood, a fact that courses through her veins. Before she accepted his proposal, Willow had felt the hole in him echo in her sometimes, something open and waiting. Wanting to be filled.

 

“Why?”

 

“I liked the silence and not having to face any of my problems. It was half a fresh start. But sometimes, when I’m trying to convince myself I didn’t do it because I was a coward, I like to think it was just about having time. At least enough of it to understand what I wanted.”

 

“Do you want to be king?”

 

“Who else could do it?” Robert smirks, his mouth sharp.

 

“Robert…” Her tone serious, pushing past his efforts to appear affable.

 

He blinks, lips set firm now, hiding nothing from her. “It’s all I’ve ever been taught to want. It’s my birthright.”

 

“But do _you_ want it?”

 

There’s a long pause. Willow is almost convinced he may not answer.

 

“I think so,” He reaches forward and gently touches her arm. “You make me want to be a _good_ king.”)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

On her 31st birthday, Robert takes her to an elephant sanctuary in Thailand.

 

They are powerful animals, but playful and inquisitive too. Willow is awestruck, reaching up to run her hands over the rough backside of one of the mothers, her baby following in close pursuit as she roams around the two of them. There’s another moment, as they’re helping with the feeding, when a third elephant approaches Willow from behind and picks off her hat. Half her hair falls out of its pony tail, blowing wildly in the hot humid wind. Robert laughs, even when the same elephant grabs spiritedly at the back of his shirt.

 

He’s still laughing, even as Willow raises her chin to kiss him in appreciation, again and again.

 

There is no better taste than this: a king’s laughter in your mouth.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

That night, in their small private room on the sanctuary’s grounds, she rides Robert slowly, fingers intertwined tightly in his. He leans up, jaw brushing against her chin, and starts whispering things in her ear that make Willow blush red and never want to leave the bed again.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

Sophia Louise Henstridge is born nine months later.

 

They sell their first official set of family photos to Cosmopolitan UK and donate the proceeds to the elephant sanctuary.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

(There’s a picture of her on his desk. Willow’s standing in front of one of the elephants that had taken a particular liking to her. Arms wrapped around its large trunk, her smile bright and brown eyes shinning in the sunlight as they look at him through the camera lens.) 

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

Robert’s smiles are usually practiced and measured in front of others. It’s part of his stoic charm, the part that gives nothing away. With Sophia, however, all his emotions play on his face. His happiness when she giggles at everything around her, as she learns to walk and grows to have conversations with them about her toys and nursery school. The sorrow is present too, when Sophia cries after scraping her knees playing on the palace grounds or frowns on the mornings Robert leaves London to attend to his duties in a different city or country. 

 

Robert guards his thoughts and feelings carefully, tucked away from most but he’s always his most open self when he is with his daughter. Part of Willow thinks it’s because they look so alike, same shade of brown hair and light eyes, or perhaps it’s because she’s his heir and he’s still unpacking what that means for him exactly.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

 (“I don’t want to make the same mistakes my father made with me,” he tells her over dinner.

 

“What mistakes did your father make?”

 

“I was always an heir to him, never really a son, not the way Liam was. Well…until I stopped being his heir, too.”

 

“What do you mean?” Her head starts to spin.

 

He tells her of his father’s plans to abolish the monarchy, of the reasons behind it. Willow stares at him. Just stares and stares, trying to find the right words to say to him.

 

“You never told me that before,” she responds, finally.

 

“Yeah,” Robert says, briefly looking down at his lap. “I wanted to but I suppose I didn’t really know how.”

 

“Despite whatever he was thinking or the reservations he had,” Willow starts, biting her lip. “I don’t think he fully realized just how much you would try and how much you care. Which is a shame because if he was here now, if he decided not to go through with it, I think he would’ve like what he’d see in you.”

 

Robert gazes at her, silent. “Do you like what you see?”

 

Willow smiles, “I’d say I have a pretty good view,” she answers, reaching across the table to pat his hand. “All things considering.”

 

He narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Well you are getting kind of old.” She shrugs, rising from her seat. “It’s the inevitable trajectory of life–”

 

“I’ll have you know the latest polls say these new grey hairs are _sexy_.”

 

“Robert, you would have to be a literal raisin before your country would consider its own king, a king they like at that, anything but the sexiest man alive.”

 

“The poll didn’t say anything about _sexiest man alive_ ,” he grins as she starts to exit the dining room.

 

“You know what I mean!” She calls after him from the hallway.)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

The week before Mary’s born, Liam marries a Manhattan socialite. The palace and extended royal family fills out and flies to New York. Eleanor urges Robert to come and he tells her that he will think about it.

 

Willow tells him he should go but that she won’t force him. Some days, because of the furious pace of their lives, Liam’s absence is nothing but a tiny shadow in the corner of the room, sometimes not even an afterthought. But other days, for Robert, Liam looms in every part of the palace and she knows he misses him.

 

“I’m not going to leave you,” Robert says, “You could have the baby at any moment.”

 

“Don’t use the baby as an excuse,” she challenges, “We’ll be fine until you get back. If you don’t want to go that’s alright, but it’s your _choice_. If you want to go, that’s alright too. How many times does one get to watch Liam Henstridge get married anyway?”

 

He snorts, “Probably several?”

 

“Robert!” Willow wrinkles her nose at him. “It’s probably bad luck to say that.”

 

“I know you care about him. Even after everything that happened. When he left the family, he left you too,” Robert swallows, looking away. “Besides, he didn’t exactly invite me.”

 

“Do you want to go?”

 

“I don’t know,” he exhales, “I just…can’t stand the thought of showing up after all this time and not knowing where we stand.”

 

“Call him at least?” she proposes.

 

“I should.”

 

(He does. They speak for a few terse moments. Willow’s hands are on her large belly, watching closely.)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

“I had a dream about you last night,” Robert says one morning at breakfast as he pours juice in a cup for Mary. She coos, dark eyes gazing intently at the orange liquid.

 

Willow eyes perk up immediately. “ _Really_ ,” she replies, her tone full of intrigue. She turns to look at Sophia across the table. “Listen to this, honey. This is the kind of thing boys, and I guess somewhat self-aware girls too, will start saying to you but you’ve got to remain sharp and steadfast against their attempts to waste your time.”

 

“Sophia’s five,” he deadpans, “Don’t you think this conversation is a bit premature?”

 

“Absolutely not,” she sniffs, waving her hand dismissively. “So, what happened in this dream of yours?”

 

“You–”

 

Sophia interjects, “Does daddy dream about you often?”

 

“I don’t know,” she answers, narrowing her eyes at Robert. “I don’t think your father sleeps enough in the first place to be honest. It’s why he’s always mean and grumpy.”

 

“I’m the furthest thing from mean and grumpy,” he huffs, “And maybe I don’t sleep because it’s impossible to get any rest around here with all these personal attacks against my character.”

 

“Robert, please,” Willow answers, looking at him over the rim of her teacup teasingly. “It’s too early for me to pretend you’re funny.”

 

“I wasn’t joking,” Robert says, biting thoughtfully into his toast. “Jokes would just go to waste on you, Willow. Sophia, you’re old enough to know now that the Queen of England has no sense of humour. I know this because _I_ am _very_ funny.”

 

“Do you feel better when you lie to yourself?” she quips.

 

“Not as good as you feel when you’re being cruel.”

 

“I’m more at peace with myself, yes, if that is what you’re referring you,” Willow nods at her daughter. “Remember Sophia, you must always put your own thoughts and feelings before any man – even if he is the king.”

 

She giggles, probably not really understanding what her mother has said. But it’s still the greatest sound Willow has ever head.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

(Afterwards, when they are lying in the dark, ready for sleep to take them:

 

“What was the dream really about?”

 

Robert yawns and answers, half-awake. “You told me you weren’t afraid of anything.”

 

The corner of her mouth quirks up.

 

Willow is Robert’s ally in battle and he is her safehouse. When their plans blow up or they hit roadblocks in their joined and separate paths, she remembers Robert is a manifestation of the things that are most important in her life. Being charming and intelligent is relatively easy but having courage and conviction is not, and Willow has learned a lot about all these things from him.

 

There are other important things she’s learned too. Things like what it’s like to wake up next to Robert most mornings, to look into the depth of his blue eyes and see passion and understanding and relief, to be _here_ , occupying this life with him, to start to raise children with him.

 

“When I’m with Mary and Sophia and you, nothing scares me,” she says, drifting off, her head resting against his shoulder.)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

Despite being married to him, Willow still feels a little loopy when Robert does things like pop his head in her study and bring her tea when she’s preparing a speech, or when they sometimes hold hands during their walks to the local park with the girls, or when he pulls her into a searing kiss when they fuck, his fingers lost in her hair.

 

Robert, by far, is the stupidest crush Willow Moreno has ever had.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

Liam’s son is born the following May. The news reaches them through Eleanor.

 

She and Robert stay up all night talking about the country’s upcoming election and the inevitable shuffle in Parliament, about the ruin they’ve both been working to try to fix. On the edge of sleep, Robert mumbles about his childhood, the moments he had running around the palace with Eleanor and Liam, before he grew too old and had to leave them behind. How Robert always pictured his kids playing with Liam’s and Eleanor’s in their place.

 

In the morning they wake up tangled in each other, her cheek nestling in the crook of his neck. Up close, Willow sees the signs of his growing age. The soft wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, the creases in his forehead, and the twinge of grey in the stubble on his face. They’re little things but noticeable and Willow can’t help when she reaches up and runs her fingertips over the curve of his jaw. Robert stirs and she almost regrets doing it. It had been a small decision, unlike so many they have made together, but perhaps, she reasons, it’s always comes down to the small things. The things people say or forget to say, the things they do or don’t, and how they’re never supposed to mean as much as they end up doing.

 

How they sometimes come to mean everything.

 

Small things like what the bones of Robert’s ribs feel like under her hands, that he is sturdy and lean beneath all those collared shirts of his, and that he likes the feel of her mouth at his throat, right at the corner of his jaw. Like how Robert's body relaxes when he's about to fall asleep, how his heartbeat lightens and his breathing softens, and he sighs as if he's lost something. Willow knows how Robert keeps ties rolled and lined in that one dresser drawer of his, but sometimes forgets to close it. That he always remembers to pick up after himself when he doesn’t have to. Or that he can sometimes predict her choices before she even makes them.

 

Willow knows these things. She's seen them, sometimes she dreams of them. She's inhaled them and now they rush in her blood. Robert’s a part of her, and so is his life. But she still cherishes the knowledge of them because they belong to her and her alone.

 

“Morning,” she says to him when he awakes with her in his arms.

 

“Morning,” he echoes lazily, hand sliding down her backside, blue eyes glistening in the light coming from the window. “You get any sleep?”

 

“Yeah,” Willow breathes, “Yeah, I slept just fine.”

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

What happens next happens somewhere in the middle:

 

Robert’s got her pinned underneath him, hands around her wrists pushed into the bed, his cheek pressed against hers. Willow bites back her moans, eyes closed and legs clinging desperately to Robert’s slow thrusting hips. They are taking their time with one another, a luxury that is hard to come by these days, but Willow welcomes it. The pace makes her feel like she’s got livewire underneath her skin and it doesn’t help that his breath is hot against her neck and she’s embarrassingly close to pleading with him.  

 

“I love you,” Robert whispers suddenly.

 

Willow’s eyes fly open, head turning to look at him, her lips brushing against his.

 

She climaxes hard before she can say anything.  

 

By the time the orgasm stops shaking her, he’s finished too, collapsing next to her and pressing against her side. Willow listens to Robert’s breathing return to normal, the blush from his cheeks fading away too. She turns to face him, the affection and appreciation she feels for him, vast and fierce, races up to her, nearly starving the oxygen from her lungs.

 

“Robert—”

 

“I love you,” he says again, facing her now. This time it’s clear and the words don’t echo around in her mind. He touches her cheek and give her a small smile, eyes locking with hers. “I really love you.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

She doesn’t wait for Robert to say it again. Instead, her own smile peaks from the corner of her mouth, and she leans in pressing her mouth to his. She can feel the heat of his exhale as she twists her head to a new angle, kissing him for a few more moments, before pulling her head back, leaning away. Willow’s heart feels as if it's trying to burst out of her ears, and she slowly unclenches her fingers from the bed sheets, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her arm around him.

 

“Yeah.” She hears him say, can feel the reverb of it where her ear presses against his chest.

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“That obvious, huh?”

 

“You’re rather good at a lot of things but I reckon there are some things only I can do and you can’t.”

 

“Such as…?”

 

“Like watching _you_ fall in love with _me_.”

 

Robert chuckles and she can picture him smirking, rolling his eyes as he says, “Brilliant.”

 

Willow responds by raising her chin and leaning up to kiss him again. This time it tastes a little bit like a dare and her laughter is sudden when it rises from the back of throat. Because Robert of all people should know.

 

She’s always up for the challenge.

 

No matter the hardships she’s long forgotten or the things she lives with everyday, no matter how much of their lives gets uncovered, no one will know her like Robert does. The same way no one will know the things she knows about him.

 

Willow closes her eyes, feeling the sway of Robert’s rising and falling chest, feeling as though she could drift towards sleep, her arms tightening around him. She likes to entertain the idea that she's floating out to sea. Maybe Robert's there to anchor her to someplace that they haven't yet named, a place to keep and call their own. But whatever it is, or wherever, or how they get there, he is hers. He always has been.

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

(“Is this real to you?” Robert quietly asks her one time, sitting on the sofa as she prepares to leave his study and turn in for the evening. Mary has just fallen asleep in his arms, her face buried in Robert’s shoulder, hidden by her dark curls.

 

Sophia sits in front of the roaring fireplace, finishing her homework.

 

Willow smiles at her family. “It’s always been real to me.”)

 

 

 

 

—

 

 

 

 

There’s a cancellation one afternoon with the head of the women’s health advocacy group and Willow jumps at the opportunity to pick up her girls from day school. In the car ride home, Sophia and Mary talk animatedly about their day. Sophia has to catch her breath multiple times during her drawn out explanation of the lessons she learned and Mary interrupts to inform them of the mischievous things she got into with her friends. They smile in a way that more and more resembles Robert’s with each passing day.

 

When they exit the vehicle and they walk up the stairs, entering the marble entrance of their wing at the palace, Mary’s tiny hand slips from Willow’s as she points down the hall.

 

“Who’s that with daddy, mum?” She asks, pointing to the figure standing next to Robert by the large window.

 

Willow’s eyes connect with Liam’s, then Robert’s, and she feels the immediate swell of emotion rise in her chest. Her feet carry her forward, almost unintentionally, and the hesitant smile makes it way from the corner of her mouth.

 

“Willow, hey,” Liam says as she approaches them. He looks like he wants to reach out and hug her but stops himself, unsure. So Willow takes the initiative, wrapping her arms around his midsection and taking a moment to fully realize it’s him.

 

“Liam, what are you doing here?” She asks, even though part of her knows.

 

Their prince has come home.

 

 

 

 

—

  

 

 

 

It doesn’t take long before Willow is reminded of the differences between them. The personality ticks that divide the two brothers, the flaws in their makeup that reveals one from the other. She could make them out in the dark if she had to. The same emotion plays so differently on the both of them and sometimes it’s hard to believe they are brothers at all. Liam is transparent where Robert isn’t, and Robert is headstrong in places where Liam is much less self-assured. They play their different parts with precision and almost always in tandem.

 

Over dinner that night, with Eleanor and Helena in attendance, Liam shares stories of his travels these past several years. He talks about his family. His business ventures. His home in New York City.

 

Willow’s so caught up in what Liam says that she almost forgets the illusion of difference is only an assumption when one accepts the reality they are presented. It’s like a slow, temperate burn the way she’s now thinks of deserted islands and hopscotching around the globe. What the differences really are. What it takes to learn to face your fears, to face yourself and grow into it.

 

 

 

 

—

  

 

 

 

(After dinner she sees them talking, Robert still in his blazer while Liam has stripped down to a crisp white shirt.  She's had more wine than usual this evening and feels the surprise and exhaustion from the day’s events creep into her.  

From the corner of her eye Willow watches Liam touch Robert’s shoulder and lean into him, whispering something in his ear like a secret.

They both look at her at the same time, grinning, eyes meeting hers across the room.)

 

 

 

  

—

 

 

  

 

Liam’s wife and son fly into London a week later. Willow has the unused wing in the palace prepared for them. Robert’s eyes light up when he meets his nephew for the first time and she can see his brain churning as he thinks of all the things he’s going to have to teach him that Liam can’t.

 

Later, as their children chase each other in the summer heat on the palace lawn, Liam finds her watching from the door.

 

“I’m sorry,” Liam says quietly, briefly closing his eyes. So much time has now passed. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye or didn’t call. That I couldn’t be someone you could count on or be who you wanted.”

 

“That’s okay,” Willow responds, her voice grounded and certain, squinting against the sunlight. “I’m glad you came back. Did you find what you were looking for?”

 

“I think so,” he answers, “The closest thing to it, I suppose.”

 

“Good,” she nods.

 

“You look really happy,” Liam comments, now standing next to her, looking outside as well. “You took good care of each other.”

 

“We try.”

 

 

 

 

 —

 

 

 

  

They attend another Children’s Hospital Gala together.

 

Willow's fingers curl into his hand and the back of his shoulder, and Robert squeezes her hip softly in response. They're not really dancing, just holding onto each other, their bodies forming a long line. She can feel the warmth of Robert through his tux, just like she did in this very spot several years ago. Can feel it sink into her skin and bones.

 

Willow sighs against his neck, “The children are growing up, Liam’s home. Things are becoming routine. It’s nice.”

 

“I agree,” Robert replies, “Liam’s still a bit of an ass.”

 

She smirks, “You can still take him, I imagine?”

 

“You know, Willow, these jokes about how old I’m getting are solicited by absolutely no one and therefore continue to be unwarranted.”

 

“ _I_ continue to find them delightful and I won’t be deterred.”

 

“People are going to think we hate each other.”  

 

“Would that be so bad?” she asks, “It sure would make finding an out easier.”

 

“I could never leave you,” Robert sniffs, “Especially now that I’m _too old_ —”

 

“Oh please—”

 

“And Len would probably send her bodyguard to assassinate me—”

 

“I’m certain—"

 

“Mary would cry endlessly and you’d never let me hear the end of it—”

 

“And what about me?” Willow says, fingers curling into the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. “You’d leave me only _after_ ensuring I’d fallen in love with you first?”

 

“You finally came around?”

 

“You wore me down,” she grins, leaning into him when he kisses her, a firm hand under her chin.

 

Willow pulls him closer, close enough so the fabric of her dress strains against his suit, so close that it might be impossible to tell where she starts and Robert ends. Close enough so that there’s pieces of one that permanently become parts of the other.

 

 

 


End file.
